


Truth Exists (Only Lies are Invented)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Contracts, Detroit Red Wings, Fingering, Fondling, French Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, Promises, Rumors, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank doesn't want to believe the rumors about Pavel leaving the Red Wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Exists (Only Lies are Invented)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the (hopefully not true) rumors swirling around about Pavel leaving the Red Wings after this season.

“Truth exists; only lies are invented.”—Georges Braque

Truth Exists (Only Lies are Invented) 

Dawn cracked like an egg over Toronto, staining the steel skyscrapers with the yellow streams of its yolk, and trickling through the blinds of Hank’s hotel room window. He hadn’t slept a wink, and not just because he was worried about Wednesday’s matchup against the Flyers, which would be paramount in determining their playoff fates, but also about those whispers that Pavel would be returning to Russia a season earlier than everyone had planned. 

Those were rumors that Hank wanted to believe were a mound of steaming shit, but Pavel was so damn secretive—revealing only what he wanted when he wished to whom he desired—that even with telepathy, Hank could not ferret out all Pavel’s hidden thoughts and emotions. Pavel was too clever to make the warren of his heart or mind easily navigable by any visitor, even Hank. Hank believed that he had penetrated the mysteries of Pavel’s mind and heart more deeply than anyone else, but there were crevices that even he found impossible to explore. 

To comfort himself and because a veteran’s mind was as prone to flashbacks as his body was too breaking, he remembered the chaos before the 2005 season when everyone had been convinced that a deal would never be worked out between the Red Wings and Pavel. Even Hank, who had already come to think of Pavel as an extension of himself, had only been able to hope that he would return to the team. This hope had been dying, and he had been forced to wonder if this was how it felt to have a limb amputated when news that brought a new life to him—that Pavel had reached an agreement with the Wings—reached him. 

He hadn’t known what to feel when Pavel arrived in Detroit with a wide smile that suggested he would rather be there than anywhere else (though he had almost chosen not to be there at all). He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to fold his arms around Pavel in a rib-crushing embrace, shouting, “Hallejeah, you’re here!” or slap the smile off Pavel’s face, screaming, “Fuck you for putting me through hell!”

That night as he sat on Pavel’s bed, watching Pavel deftly transfer rings of sushi from chopsticks to his mouth when Hank would’ve been lucky not to impale his eyes on the Asian misconception of what silverware should be, Hank remarked wryly through their bond, “I don’t know whether to be happy that you’re back or pissed off that there was ever a question that you wouldn’t be, Pav.” 

“Do you want me to use my new contract to hire a psychologist for you to work out your feelings?” Pavel’s gaze gleamed as he smacked his lips in approval at what was apparently a particularly succulent piece of sushi. “Then I could eat my sushi in peace, and you could resolve your many issues.” 

“Screw you.” Hank whacked Pavel’s elbow. “You put me through hell with worry that you weren’t coming back, and you don’t even give a fuck about that, do you? Shit, you probably don’t even give a fuck about me!” 

“I give a fuck about you.” Putting down his sushi and chopsticks, Pavel used his newly freed hands to caress Hank’s flushing cheeks and pull Hank’s quivering chin toward him. “In fact, I give many fucks about you. Want me to prove that to you now?” 

Before Hank could answer, Pavel had started kissing him or he had begun kissing Pavel, and the whole world dissolved into the feel of Pavel’s lips brushing against his, the sensation of his tongue snaking through Pavel’s pursing mouth to tango with his tongue, and the taste of sushi…

Emerging from this recollection with a jolt, Hank noted inwardly that at least sunrise meant it was late enough in the morning that he could start to pry information out of Pavel. Shuffling down the hallway in his slippers, he sent questing tendrils from his brain to Pavel’s on a mission to discover whether Pavel was asleep. A second later, a window opened into Pavel’s mind from Hank’s on head, and he could see the doubts, fears, and regrets swirling like a tornado through the vista of Pavel’s brain, and he knew that Pavel was awake—because if he were asleep his thoughts would be hilariously nonsensical, such as showing up to practice naked—rather than real and anguished. Barely a breath after the window had opened to Pavel’s mind, Hank felt it close as suddenly as if a curtain had been pulled across it. 

“Open up, Pav,” Hank called aloud and across their bond, hammering at the door to Pavel’s hotel room and the gate he had slammed around his mind. 

“I’m sleeping.” Pav’s tone was exaggeratedly sluggish as it floated across their connection and he projected an image of himself yawning widely enough to swallow a gorilla. 

“I know you aren’t sleeping.” Hank let Pavel see his impatient eye roll via their bond. 

“Only because you woke me up.” This time, an image of Pavel’s face buried in his pillow accompanied the protest. 

“I’ll keep you awake until you talk to me.” Hank gave the door another pound. 

“You’ll wake up the whole hotel if you don’t stop.” Pavel’s clicked tongue was audible through their connection, and, through his mind’s eye, he could see a scowling Pavel rolling out of bed and stomping across the carpet to jerk open the door. 

Stepping over the threshold once Pavel had opened it, Hank demanded, more aggressively than he had intended, “You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?” 

“I think of many things.” Pavel shut the door, turned on his heel, and marched back to his bed, where he collapsed on his stomach and burrowed his face in his pillow. “None of your business what they are.” 

“Don’t give me that crap.” Hank shook Pavel’s shoulder as he sat on the bed beside Pavel. “It’s definitely my business if you’re thinking about leaving.” 

“Who wouldn’t think about leaving in my position?” Pavel’s shoulder trembled under Hank’s palm, and Hank could taste—through his link with Pavel’s tortured mind—the bitter tears that had fallen on his lips. “I’m broken, and there’s no chance ever be whole again when I play hockey. I’m being asked to carry a team when I can’t even walk properly most of the time. It’s a twisted joke, and I don’t want to be the literal punchline of it any more, Z.” 

“I know you’re in pain all the time.” Hank’s thought was a soothing murmur as he gingerly trailed his hand down from Pavel’s shoulder along his back and thigh, pausing only briefly to pat Pavel’s taut rump, until it cupped the kneecap that had given Pavel so much trouble over the years, massaging away as much of the ache as he could. While his right palm ministered to Pavel’s bothersome knee, his left hand wrapped around Pavel’s ankle and rubbed a delicate rhythm over bones where he could feel the breaking and healing that had taken place. “Being hurt doesn’t mean you’re broken, though. You’re never broken, Pav.” 

“Wish that were true, Z.” Pavel’s words were laced with wistfulness as he grabbed ahold of Hank’s wrist and guided Hank’s hand from his kneecap up to his groin. Threads of pleasure spiraled out of Pavel as Hank’s fingers curled around Pavel’s penis, running along the length of Pavel’s shaft and forming friction against Pavel’s shorts that made them both hard as boulders. “Wish that I was still young and the world hadn’t yet had a chance to cut me down to size. Wish I was still a kid to Brett’s old goat because being an old goat sucks, and that you were always my line mate.” 

“That was one hell of a line.” Hank whistled at the memory of the magic created by that Two Kids and a Goat Line as he tugged down Pavel’s shorts and briefs. 

As Pavel, the threads of pleasure spinning out of him weaving into a tapestry of bliss and yearning, thrust into Hank’s hand, he sent a thought tinged with cynicism shooting into Hank’s brain, “Blashil said that we’d get to play on the same line this season, and Ken promised that he got Richards so we could play together, but instead I’m with Richards and we’re still apart. They lied to us. Again.” 

“Would you want to stay if we were together?” Hank stroked a path from Pavel’s ankle up to the firm globes of his ass, which he squeezed before tugging apart to expose the tight pink pucker of Pavel’s anus, which, as always, seemed too small to be the focal point of all Hank’s desires. 

“Don’t know.” Pavel yelped and squirmed in shock that surrendered to ecstasy as Hank’s tongue circled his hole and then darted into it, tickling and teasing with light licks. “I know that I don’t want to stay if we aren’t together, Z.” 

“That’s a start.” Hank’s tongue dove into Pavel’s anus with mounting fervor as Pavel’s cock continued to pound against his palm. “Anything I can say to make you want to stay?” 

“Nothing you can say.” Pavel tossed Hank a smile that could only be classified as coy over his shoulder. “Something you can do.” 

“What?” Hank pressed, his dick throbbing as Pavel’s semen, warm as July rain, squirted between his fingers. “Tell me what you want, Pav, and I’ll give you it.” 

“I want you inside of me.” Pavel arched his spine so that Hank’s tongue delved deeper into his clenching hole. 

“I already am inside of you.” Chuckling, Hank administered a playful swat to Pavel’s hindquarters. “Sex makes you forgetful as a goldfish, I swear.” 

“I don’t want your tongue inside me.” Pavel stretched back a hand to pull the clothing away from Hank’s erect cock. “I want this inside me.” 

“Then we want the same thing.” His chuckle rising into a laugh, Hank decided to use Pavel’s own juices as lubricant but not without first lifting the fingers covered in Pavel’s come to his lips and lapping up just enough of Pavel’s semen so that the sweet-salty taste of Pavel would be in his mouth when he found release inside Pavel’s burning depths. “Remember when we had make-up sex in 2005 when you finally signed a contract and came after worrying everyone’s butts off that you wouldn’t and you tasted like sushi?” 

“That was my lips,” pointed out Pavel indignantly as Hank’s fingers nudged inside his anus, moistening it with his own semen. “Not my come. How does my come taste?” 

“Like heaven.” Hank smile split his cheeks from ear to ear as he removed his hand from Pavel’s hole and slid his dick inside Pavel’s waiting body. “You feel like heaven, too.”


End file.
